I walked out of the bathroom, stopped in front of Cristina, and knelt as she had taught me, my knees widely spread, my breasts lifted up and forward for her inspection. I lifted my eyes to her, hoping for a favorable reception. She looked down at me and smiled.

"You look marvelous, my dear. Any man who sees you will be tempted to tear off your clothes and take you on the spot."

I shuddered, thinking about how dangerous it would be to be a beautiful slave. In my ordinary life I could usually protect myself from the demands of men who might desire my body. As a slave, however, I would be at risk of forcible usage by any man or woman who cared to possess me. I would simply have to comply with his or her wishes, fully and submissively.

"Down on all fours," Cristina ordered, pulling her riding crop from her belt for emphasis. Terrified, wondering what I had done, I lowered myself to hands and knees, my hair falling over my face. "Now, crawl away from me to the other side of the room and turn around." I did so, my breasts swaying gently under me. I turned and faced her. "Now get down on your belly and clasp your hands behind your back." I obeyed, my breasts now pressed against the hard floor, my head lifted off the ground to see her. "Very good," Cristina said. "Now crawl back to me on your belly and kiss my feet." Why was she doing this to me? What was she putting me through my paces like a trained animal? Tears in my eyes, I began to inch across the floor on my belly. "Hurry up, slut!" she shouted, and snapped the crop in the air. I redoubled my efforts, squirming towards my mistress's feet, utterly humiliated. When I reached her, I began licking and kissing frantically at her shoes, hoping through sufficient passion to convince her of my sincere obedience. I felt the end of the crop tracing lazy circles across my back and moaned softly.

"You may desist, slave," Cristina said. I tried to look up at her. "Kneel as you were before." I obeyed. She pressed her crop to my lips and I kissed it fervently. "That was a test of your obedience and docility," she said. She paused. "You passed with flying colors. You clearly have the makings of a truly submissive slave." I blushed deeply. Not only had I obeyed her least command instantly, but in the process I had actually become aroused. Just crawling across the floor, licking my mistress's shoes, and kissing her whip had left me weak with desire. I wondered if Cristina could sense my piteous state.

Cristina reached down and snapped the end of a chain leash on the ring on my collar. "Now we're ready to go," she said. She picked up my keys from the kitchen counter and led the way out of the apartment, locking the door behind her. I followed her down the stairs and out the door to her waiting car. Groups of people turned and stared as the collared and leashed slave girl followed her mistress into the limousine, her scanty clothing hardly concealing the delights of her body. Instead of sitting on the seat, I instinctively knelt before my mistress, my knees spread, awaiting her command. She smiled. I expected her to draw my head toward her and command me to serve her. Now was the moment when I would begin to pay the ultimate price of my slavery, when I would begin learn how to satisfy my mistress's every pleasure. But instead, she reached down to adjust my clothes, revealing even more of my breasts and hips, accentuating my figure even further. "Yes, you make a wonderful slave," she said softly, her hands caressing my naked flanks. "It will be a pleasure to finally take you." My heart fluttered in anticipation.

Eventually the car stopped. The driver opened the door and Cristina stepped out, her slave trailing behind. We were in the large, circular driveway of what looked like late-nineteenth-century mansion. Cristina turned to me. "Remember, you are a slave here. If anyone says anything to you, you obey immediately. Anything less will be punished." She paused. "If anything goes beyond your limits, let me know and I'll take you home. OK?"

"Yes, mistress," I said.

Satisfied, she walked up the steps to the front door. I followed, my heart beating furiously. What lay beyond that door?

Cristina rang the doorbell and the door opened almost instantly. Inside was a young, beautiful, red-haired woman, wearing a low-cut, short-skirted, black sheath dress - and a metal collar. I felt a lump in my throat. Was she truly a slave, or was she just playing a role? Was there a difference? She knelt gracefully, her knees widely spread, lowered her head to the floor before Cristina, and straightened up again. "Thank you for coming, mistress," she said. "My master asks you to join him in the library."

"Thank you, Sonja," Cristina said. "Can you take this slut and make her useful?" she said, indicating me. "Her name is Jenny, and she has almost no experience. You may treat her as you would your own slave." I began to feel afraid. With Cristina I felt some reassurance, but I had no idea what this woman might demand from me. Of course, being given or loaned to another master is something a slave girl must be prepared for and accept. It is part of what it means to be a slave.

"Of course, mistress," the kneeling slave said - with what I thought was a hint of a smile. "I'll take care of her as if she were my own."

Cristina turned to me and said, "Remember to obey her - and anyone else - immediately and absolutely. You only exist to serve and please them."

"Yes, mistress," I said, and she handed my leash to Sonja and walked away through the archway to our left.

Sonja stood up gracefully and gave me a hard look. "Why aren't you kneeling, slut?" she said.

I began to stammer a reply, swallowed it, and knelt in front of her submissively. After a moment's hesitation, I opened my knees widely, adopting the position that now seemed so natural to me. Hoping to appease her, I pulled back my shoulders and thrust my breasts up and forward. I hoped she liked what she saw.

"That's better, slut," she said. "Follow me and we'll put you to work. But don't rise from your knees - a slut like you looks better on all fours." I padded along behind her on hands and knees as she led the way through the opulently arrayed dining room and into the kitchen, wondering what kind of "work" awaited me. If Sonja really was a slave and compelled to serve her master's pleasure all day, would she not seize the opportunity to abuse a slave girl of her own? So it was with some surprise that I found myself set to menial kitchen tasks - peeling vegetables, slicing bread, cleaning dishes. As Sonja ordered me about, I found myself, surprisingly, becoming mildly aroused. So slavery was not just about being stripped naked, thrown to the ground, and raped as I had fantasized - it was also about cooking and cleaning, attending to every wish a master might have.

Twice more the doorbell rang. Each time Sonja answered the door and came back with another exquisite, scantily dressed woman, collared, presumably another slave girl. One, a tall, statuesque blonde wearing a translucent white minidress, was named Eva; the other, a half-Asian with black hair and deep green eyes, wearing a black lace bra and panties, was named Melissa. I was introduced as Jenny, the "new American slut." As Cristina had warned me, I addressed them as Mistress, which seemed to amuse them.

They seemed to know each other well, and chatted as they worked in the kitchen. I could not make out everything they were saying, but the more I listened, the more certain I was that they truly lived as slaves, as they discussed their masters and the services they rendered to them, seemingly proud of the indignities they were forced to endure.

At a pause in the conversation, I turned to Sonja and said, "Mistress, may I ask a question?"

"Go ahead, slut," she answered.

"Are you all really ... slaves?" I managed to say.